


Tongue-Tied

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Bestiality, Body Horror, Drugged Sex, For Science!, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tongues, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Leon Kennedy wakes up in a cell, head fuzzy, wondering what Umbrella was doing with him.  Things only go downhill from there.





	Tongue-Tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).



He woke with a throbbing headache, not the least of all helped by the flashing warning lights and loud klaxon blaring.  Scent of blood and rot assaulted his nostrils and forced him to his feet. 

His bare feet.

He was completely naked, covered in some bruises and scrapes.  His forearms were a mess of track marks.  Were they interrogating him?  He slammed his eyes shut and tried to think very hard about what was going on. 

Something very wrong, Leon Kennedy decided.

Not like that was a difficult judgment.  The filthy cot in a cell he was in, the fact the cell door was ajar, held open by the upper half of a figure in biohazard gear.  He approached the body and took a knee, seeing the thing’s abdomen hollowed out by something.  The waist was a mess, but the man’s hip holster was intact.  Unsnapping the thumb break, he pulled out the handgun, then patted down the corpse for extra clips.

He was considering wheather or not to take try and relieve the corpse of its boots and pants when it twitched, and he practically jumped out of his skin, clear of the door.  Umbrella facility, of course “dead” might not necessarily be permanent.  He considered shooting the zombie, unable to sit up with it’s mangled abdominals, and instead turned.

He needed to save the ammo.

His entire body was sore as he rapidly walked away as the zombified guard attempted to right itself to purse him.  Head on a swivel, he kept an eye out for any way out of the situation, he tried to get his bearings, tried to remember how he ended up here.  The blood-spattered red-and-white octagonal logo on the wall made it clear that this was Umbrella’s doing, as if the chewed corpses and the zombified guard weren’t enough evidence.

What had they wanted from him?

His stomach twisted and his head throbbed as he tried to think.  Tried to mentally work his way from his last memories to where he was now, just a flash, ringing in his ears, and someone trying to shout over that ringing while he was forced to the ground and zip-tied.  Everything after that was foggy, up until he woke up to the sound of alarms and distant screaming.

His ruminations were cut short when a zombie stumbled out of an adjoining hallway, turning to look at him with blank, dull eyes.  He leveled his handgun at her face, and paused.  He felt something creep all the way up his spine, scratching at the back of his head.  Her perfectly-ordered outfit was covered in gore and in disarray, but the unkempt mop of red hair, and the glasses stubbornly clinging to her bloody face made him recognize her, remember her.

* * *

_“Good evening, Mister Kennedy” The doctor said as he was wheeled into the room on a gurney.  He’d seen her a few times, as she observed him outside his cell, made some comment he couldn’t make out.     Noticing a few bruises along his ribs, she clicked her tongue and shook her head.  “I see you gave your guards trouble.”_

_He said nothing, staring past her.  Behind her was a mass of exposed muscle, brains, teeth, and claws. licker.  His head was swimming from a blow one of the guards gave him when he put up a fight, so it took him so long to figure out why it wasn’t attacking.  They had the thing tied up—hell, it was practically bolted to the floor with thick straps.  Around it’s head was a muzzle or gag or something.  It perked with every noise the doctor made._

_“Now then, Mister Kennedy, I’m sure you’re wondering why we haven’t just disposed of you, yet.  What possible use could we have with a rookie cop who really is just a loose end to be silenced?” He had thought that, between the beatings and blood draws, but he tried to be impassive as she talked.  Half-turning and looking at the licker, she added  “And why we’ve decided to arrange this meeting.”_

* * *

He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession.  Hands were shaking and it took a lot of mental effort not to empty the clip in her goddamn head.  As it was, fucking _pissed_ as he was, the first shot went wide, the second punched a hole in her neck—what would’ve been a kill shot if she were among the living, and the third smashed into her lower jaw, bullet glancing off her ruined face in a direction that didn’t take it through her brain.

She stumbled backed like a drunk, before reorienting herself.  A low, sort of whistling happened as she tried to moan and the air came out the hole in her throat.  It was scarcely a sound, but he heard it nonetheless.  He bit the inside of his mouth enough to draw blood as he inhaled and lined up a shot, right between her eyes.

The whistling became a gurgling as the zombie doctor threw her head back and then jerked to the side in a flash of red.  Leon reflexively pulled the trigger, missing the zombie as she was dragged off by a long, sinewy piece of meat. 

Leon’s heart pounded as he followed.  There was no reason to chase after the doctor, especially since he recognized what happened, and what had dragged her off.  He swallowed a mouthful of spit and blood and kept the pace up.  It was stupid and reckless—they had trouble following if you moved slow, but running meant the licker could hear him.

Although this particular one was dragging a still-struggling zombie across the ceiling, heading quite purposefully down the hallways.  His bare feet slapped down on linoleum sticky with half-dried blood, over assorted bits and pieces of things he didn’t want to think of.

And still he followed.

* * *

 

_“…You see, Mister Kennedy, Lickers are an… end-state of T-Virus infection.  Given time, zombies metamorphose into Lickers, which can take quite some time, and each new licker requires a new human test subject.”  She chattered on.  “It would be much easier if we could simply breed them—no need to source new subjects.”_

_“Am I supposed to care?” He blurted out, still staring at the licker, clenching its teeth as it swiveled its head in his direction, as far as it could in its binds.  He could see the muscles tense, trying to break its bonds.  “If you’re gonna feed me to that stupid thing, I’d prefer you get on with it.”_

_“You’ll understand in due time, Officer Kennedy.” The doctor said, smirking an eminently punchable smile as she looked over her clipboard.  He had the distinct feeling she had her entire spiel written on it, and those scribblings were just for affect.  “You see, our attempts to breed them were all failures.  We could get them to copulate, but… nothing.  It appeared they were completely sterile.”_

_“And?”_

_“And… some dissections later, I think we’ve found the answer.”  The Doctor said, grin going full manic.  “You see, we ran some tests, some biological quirk with the virus meant that their gonads are nonfunctional.  The females, however…”_

_She paused for dramatic affect and walked a half circle around the Licker.  It tensed when she ran a hand down it’s back.  “I’d like you to meet Subject Jay-Oh-Five-Nine-Tee, but we call her Roxanne.  She’s smarter than average, physically robust, and…”_

_“I assume you learned that because she figured a way out of her cage and mauled someone, right?”  Leon interjected, trying to nettle the scientist._

He _rolled his eyes, and the doctor sighed, dramatically, a noise that agitated the licker.  “As I was saying, smart, strong, and fertile.”_

_He glanced at the guards, who were taking this crazy bullshit in stride, although one of them looked up at the ceiling, not making eye contact with anything in the room.  He glanced back at the doctor and her stupid pet, and, knowing the answer couldn’t be good, asked “And why does that matter?  You said it yourself, they’re sterile.”_

_“Well, as I was saying, Officer Kennedy, Lickers were humans prior to advanced stages of T-virus infection… the theory goes that if we can’t put another licker out to stud, a human subject should work just as well.”_

_There was a long pause, then Leon shouted “You’re fucking insane.”_

* * *

He followed the trail to a T-junction that was literally piled with corpses, skidding to a halt on the tile floor just as the Licker decapitated the scientist zombie.  He went very still, as it was no longer distracted by its meal, and instead doubled back down the corridor, digging into the ceiling.  Eyes forward, he stared at the bodies.  They weren’t strewn about, the licker had deliberately placed them in a stack, as it let the body drop onto the pile. 

It was saving them for later.

Without tilting his head, his eyes tracked upwards, at the exposed muscle, tendon, and bone crawling along the ceiling, very slowly, very deliberately.  He had been foolish to _run_ after the creature, given how ill-prepared he was for an actual fight.  It must’ve been aware it was being followed, as it stopped maybe a few feet forward of his position and opened it’s mouth.

The long, glistening tongue slid out from beneath it’s massive teeth, slinking down to head height.  The tip had some nasty barbs on it, and it curved to be parallel to the ground, drifting and turning.  Blind, and now that he wasn’t moving, unable to pinpoint him, it was trying to feel where he was.

It was a bad decision, not like there was a good one.  Stand still and it would eventually touch him.  Move, and it would hear him.

He chose to starting to back pedal as he lifted his gun—at this range, with just a handgun, the chances were dicey.  It slammed into him, _hard_ , the second after he pulled the trigger.  He saw stars as his head bounced off of the floor, sound and sight dissolving for a moment.  He was unaware of where his gun had clattered off to, the impact knocking it out of his hand.

It had him pinned, those massive paws on either of his shoulders holding him down.  It leaned in close, making a huffing sound in time with the warm, rancid breath hitting his face.  It tilted its head, and Leon was crazy enough to think it was appraising him with that excuse for a face, all teeth and brain and absolutely nothing else.

Subject whatever the fuck, because this thing was not a “Roxanne”, didn’t recognize him.  It couldn’t.

When it opened its jaws wide, and it ran it’s tongue along his face, he shuddered.  There was no mistaking this—he’d seen the tongues these things had hook _through_ a zombie and reel them in, saw them whip it around wildly, the sharp points on the edge nicking metal and tearing a rut in his ballistic vest back in Raccoon.  And this particular licker was just licking him; the tongue—barbs not pointed his way--drifted along his skin, tightened and loosened around his throat.

The way it ground its hips against him the slimy heat against him was just more proof that this was the one and that its, not _hers_ , its interest was in something other than a meal.

After what seemed like an eternity of her rubbing against him, tongue wrapped around his head, the licker pulled away slightly, letting out a low grumble.  Leon sharply inhaled as the creature’s huge forepaws left his shoulders as it turned around.  He shuddered at the hot breath against his crotch.  He tried to push it off when it gripped his thighs and relaxed, turning into what felt like a tone of dead weight.

When he felt something long and flexible began to coil around his cock, Leon renewed his struggles.  The creatures response was to tense up, tightening its grip on his legs.  It’s back legs coiled around his head, locking at the ankles.  He couldn’t push it off, could barely do anything beyond turning his head so his face was buried against it’s thigh, rather than its crotch.  All the while, the things tongue snaked around his cock, running against his balls.  It was very clear what it was trying to do.

He wasn’t going to get hard for this fucking this.  He just wasn’t.

It was trying hard though.  The tongue squeezed gently before relaxing, running slickly against him and probing interestedly.  The tip, one of the barbs at the end, ran against his leg, not enough to cut, only enough to make him notice the contrast between everything else the tongue was doing.  It rocked against him, practically dripping against his face.  Above the smell of raw meat and animal, he could smell something completely different. 

* * *

_The doctor had said a lot of things when she jabbed the syringe into him—he was a perfectly fit male specimen, they’d done enough tests to prove he’d be adequate for the job.  He didn’t care._

_The drugs they were injecting him with would have some cognitive side effects, possibly.  He didn’t care._

_She said she wasn’t sure if their coupling would produce lickers or something else.  He didn’t care._

_Because when she pushed the plunger on the syringe and he felt it burn its way up and down his veins, there was only one thing he could care about._

_She, the guards, it didn’t matter, he needed to fuck something.  He thrashed against his restraints as she ranted about things he cared so little about that he couldn’t even make sense of.  He understood when she, appraisingly, pulled the hospital gown he was in up and gave his cock a pump, before nodding to the guards._

_They loosened, but didn’t completely undo the bonds, giving themselves enough time to leave the room as he worked his way out of his bonds._

_They were gone._

_Which made the decision easy._

_She shrieked against her muzzle in a way that, if he cared to hear about it, almost sounded in pain, although it might’ve been something else.  He hooked his arms around her and drove in hard, embracing her tight enough that the notches of her spine dug against his skin.  He thrusted hard, swift short strokes as he desperately chased release, because he needed it.  He would die without it.  And she was there for him._

_When he was done, spent, exhausted in every sense of the word, draped languidly over her, the doctor and guards came back.  She said more things he didn’t care about, before adding “We’ll have to repeat the procedure tomorrow.”_

_There were a lot of tomorrows, his fractured memory assured him._

* * *

He half-consciously thrust against the mess of tissue against him. 

He felt the thing’s tongue wrap around _more_ of him, standing erect in the tangled of her tongue.  He cringed and groaned against it’s thigh, feeling a rush of sickness at the thought that he _wanted_ the thing on top of him.  He didn’t.  Even if he was reacting to her against him.

He was just aware of how cold the hallway was when the tongue uncoiled itself, leaving his cock hard and coated in a thin layer of saliva.  The licker disentangled its legs and crawled forward, until its hips were above his.  He glanced at the glistening slit of the thing, before pushing himself to a seated position and trying to slid his way out from under the licker.  He was not going to fuck this thing.

It turned it’s shoulders and head in his directions and growled.  The tongue shot out and looped around his neck, pulling him forward, on top of her.  He tried to shove away, and it wriggled its hips.  When he tried to disentangle his neck, the tongue tightened, the thing’s movements became more frantic.

Naked, tongue around his neck, hard as a rock, and with the Licker’s interest very obvious, he had two options.  He could give it what it wanted, or he could try to fight it barehanded.  It was clearly trying not to kill him, but getting more and more frantic.  Running out of patience.  He stood, lined up near her slit, trying to work out what to do.

She made the choice, but suddenly pushing backwards against him.

She was _tight_.  But soaking wet, she managed to impale herself easily.  _It_.  He reminded himself.  It.  The creature bounced against him, up and down on his cock.  He waited for her to move away briefly before placing his hands on what passed for her ass and shoving, but she dug her claws into the tile, anchoring her and making it impossible for him to shove her off. 

It grumbled and shrieked as it bounced against him repeatedly.  Free from the haze of drugs, she felt unlike anything earlier, muscles inside her tensing and relaxing as he was in and out of her.  She was taking things slower than what his memory said he had, and he felt every motion of her, him, them.

It was harder to wrap around her waist than he remembered, when he unconsciously snaked his arms around her and held her.  _She_ was bigger--not longer or taller or bulkier, just rounder in the abdominal area.  How long had it been since they had started this stupid experiment?  How long would it…

He suddenly felt very sick again.  He redoubled his efforts to shove her, slide out from under her, get her to let go by striking her.  He swore and yelled and accomplished nothing as she kept riding him.  The sound of her panting, the smell of her arousal, the sight of her exposed muscles tensing and relaxing as she kept it up, the feel of her against him.  He wanted to get away from her.

Except when he didn’t.

He settled on just mechanically moving, head up, staring at the ceiling.  Count the tiles.  Tried his best to ignore what was happening, tried not to think about whether “Roxanne” was the thing’s name before the virus or if the scientists had just come up with it.  He scanned the hallway for his gun, and, unable to find it, kept looking, rather than trying to plan what would happen when this was over—would he be added to the pile, food for her brood—her’s, not _theirs_.  Would there be an opening to escape?  Forced that out of his head and tilted his head to the wall—the ceiling had ruts in it where she had crawled, he didn’t need to be reminded of her.

Anything was better than paying attention, because if he did that... he might didn't know what would happen.  

The inevitable happened.  He came inside her, groaning as she clung to him tightly.  She dug her claws into the tile and pulled away, and Leon briefly shifted his gaze from the ceiling to her, and promptly looked away when he caught sight of a trickle of white dripping from her snatch.  He wanted to throw up.

He told himself.

His legs were numb by the time she was done with him, and he gingerly stood up, catching sight of his gun.  He brushed past her, because by now what the fuck did it matter if she knew where he was, and he rushed for the weapon until something snagged his ankle and he fell.

She tripped him, not skewered him.  With a mixture of sickness and something else, he realized she was not done with him as she crawled atop him as he tried to pick himself up.  Her forelimbs grabbed him, pinioning his arms.  He tried to shake her off when she wrapped her lower legs around his waist, trapping him.

He let out scream as the tongue snaked over his shoulder, then down his chest, gently coiling around him.  She was not done with him by a longshot as she gently worked him over.  Maybe she’d grow bored and loosen up and he could get his gun and shoot her face off—he hoped he could do that.  Maybe she’d get him hard again, wrestle her way on top, and fuck him again.  Maybe he could manage to get out from under her and grab her and hold her down and…

Fight or fuck. 

Either way, he’d have nothing to do but wait.

**Author's Note:**

> "And that, kids, is how I met your mother"
> 
> "RAAAAAWWWWWRRRRR!"
> 
> In all seriousness, this was a fun set of tags to write for (requester wanted a drugged male character on a B.O.W., and/or a female B.O.W. on a male character). There's plenty of RE smutfic features monsters, but usually they're either male, or the more... charismatic of the female bosses. So writing something where the lovely lady with her heart set on Leon was an eyeless quadrupedal wallcrawling tonguebeast was interesting.


End file.
